Touching Asunder

Begrudge me not
oh lord of light
my waking up in cold
and black wonder.

We of the round eye and arched
hand and straight flat shin
we love our packaging
with shape graced and forced
upon the unseen forms
our habits intolerant of straggle
circles of cells and boxes of gifts
simplicity, ribbons and portability
guide our sense of apprehension.

I know the cup but not the liquid
I grasp the name but not the concept
I listen for the scalewise melody
and miss the murky wail of earth.

While our children
revel in their bodies
the mind we used to trust
comes asunder.

She feeds her dove on his altar
her love in a ring and his
adoration of the divine kept
in a chapel with spire attached to
point the way their constellations were
made familiar by repetitive
finger-pointing in storied order
some nights seen easily
most nights it feels harder.

So slowly so organically
the linkages inside insanity
spill upon the broken ground
motivating this muddled hymn.

I plead for mercy
from your justice
oh ancient magistrate
blind to thunder.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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